THE REPOSE OF NATURE. 215 



the branches and fed on the green leaves, before it 

 descended to a grave beneath the tree on which it had 

 lived. It is not repose, for the vital powers are acting 

 with wondrous force, vehemence, and rapidity, trans- 

 muting the heavy green caterpillar into the airy-winged 

 moth, or rather evolving the one from the other, 

 through the intermediate form which now lies dull, 

 helpless, and apparently dead in our hands. Mystery 

 of mysteries, all is mystery — unexplained, though 

 perhaps not inexplicable — fraught, let us be sure, with 

 wondrous meanings, and waiting imtil He who poured 

 them from His all-creative being shall interpret their 

 hidden prophecies ! 



I have called this article the Repose of Nature, 

 for want of a better word ; but, in truth, there is no 

 absolute repose in nature. All nature rebels against it, 

 and the powers of nature never cease from their labours. 

 ' My Father works,' said the Lord, ' and I work ; ' and 

 this is the law of the imiverse, operating on all created 

 things alike. I fancy that there is nothing so abhor- 

 rent to the Great Worker as idleness — the pioneer of 

 all picking and stealing, evil speaking, lying, and 

 slandering. There is something within us which forces 

 us to acknowledge the majesty of work ; and the idlest 

 man living can but feel an involuntary respect for the 

 poorest industrious labourer who has died at his work, 

 and a pang of remorse at the contrast to his own useless 

 life. 



All workers know that the truest rest is a change 

 Q 



